In the last chapter Ohmie and his father come to the realization that Ohmie may not survive their ordeal. They have traveled by air from London to Warsaw to escape capture, as well as to teach Ohmie to shoot.

“Let’s go,” he said, tucking the larger of the two guns into the waistband at the small of his back. He handed me the smaller of the two, telling me to put it in my backpack. I’d already taken out all my stuff. His jacket didn’t really hide the gun when he stretched, but he didn’t seem to care. I followed him out of the hotel and around it to a path that led into the woods. We weren’t far from the airport.

Barely into the forest, Dad pulled out his pistol. For a moment, just a quick second, I wondered if he was going to shoot me.

“We wait a few minutes. See if anyone followed us.”

I didn’t know this man.

“That’s a Berretta,” he said, pointing to my backpack. His finger and hand told me to take it out. "Nine-millimeter. That’s about the same as a .38 caliber, or .357. All about the same as long as you fire hollow points. Two things are important: Know how many rounds you have, and if you are going to shoot…. Well, I guess you already know the second one.” I knew he was talking about shoot to kill.

“Your Baretta holds thirteen rounds. This Glock holds seventeen. You need to count, yours and mine. One thing sure, whoever shoots at you, has more bullets than you do. Don’t bother counting theirs. Your main job is to survive. Kill ‘em if you can, run if you can’t. And no hiding. They will find you. Run. How do you feel?”

After a moment I replied. He waited. “About my cancer, or killing those two men?”

He just looked at me.

“I feel okay. And those two? What choice did I have?”

Dad just nodded. “It’s normal to feel bad after killing another human. We aren’t supposed to do that sort of thing. Something biological about it.”

“I’m just a little worried they might be, you know, on the other side settin’ a trap for me. When I get there in two or three months.”

This time it was a real smile, teeth and all. “If I thought that for a minute, I’d cross over and take care of ‘em for you.”

I gave him the first smile of my life, far as I know.

He pointed to a tree about forty or fifty feet deeper into the woods. It was about a foot wide.  I knew which one he meant because it was the only one with black bark. I mean, why else would he say that tree?

“Put your weapon in your waist band like mine is. Draw it out and switch off the safety as you aim at that tree and fire as soon as you can, but don’t rush anything. Wait for a jet to begin its takeoff." We were still near the airport.

My shot barely caught the right side of the tree.

“You’re a natural. Where did you learn to shoot?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “London, I guess.” He knew that I meant yesterday.

He grimaced and nodded his head. “Thank you.”

“So who were they?”

“Not sure. I wish I’d had the time to search them, but …”

“But you have an idea? Your last assignment? What you’re working on?”

“Could be. Could be any of a number of groups. Thing is, they knew when and where to find me. Only one person knows me well enough to know that I never stay at the hotel I’ve been directed to. But I don’t know who, or how many he’s shared that information with. My contact was to be in the hotel bar across the street. While en route, I had our hotel concierge go across and pick up the package waiting for me.”

“The satchel,” I said. He nodded.

“So, your phone call contact back home, the two hotel concierges, or other hotel staff, or anybody that paid them?”

Dad nodded, that little smiley thing on his left upper lip giving away his feelings.

“Or whoever might have access to my encrypted phone calls.”

“That’s why you didn’t call anyone for help. Or go to a headquarters building, or anything?” I said.

He nodded. “Now, I want you to run back to the tree line, run back here, and when you get here, spin in place until you hear a jet. Then while still turning, draw and shoot the tree. What I want is for your heart rate and breathing to be elevated, and to simulate a moving target.”

I did as requested, sort of, if my running like a hundred-year-old man counts. This time I barely caught the tree on the left edge, but at the same height as the first shot. I ran like a hobbled horse, returning to the same place and whirling like a top on its last breath. Just before falling down I raised the barrel to fire. I saw Dad diving for the cover of the nearest tree as my spinning brought him within my sights. Like I said, I hit the tree. Dad just stared at me, finally helping me up.

After showing me how to stand and hold the gun with two hands, he had me shoot the tree. I killed it, emptying the magazine into it. Without saying a word, he handed me a box of bullets, pointing at the gun. I pressed the obvious magazine release button and began loading it. Dad showed me how to do it more efficiently.

“Somebody reaches anywhere on their body without telling you what they’re doing, or convincing you that it’s normal, shoot him. Worry about who and what after, while you’re still alive. Anyone begin to point a gun at you, shoot ‘em – even if it’s a cop.” He stared at me hard. “Anyone can get a uniform.”

“Now we go to Berlin. An authentic schnitzel, a night’s rest first, and then the train.”

“What’s in Berlin?” I asked, getting a non-answer.

“We can’t fly again until you get a new passport. Our cover story will be a father taking his son across the globe for experimental treatment.”

Dad looked at me like I was his son dying of cancer.